I stand in the dilapidated chapel.
Paint peeling from the walls like the bark
of a silver birch.
Dull light cascades in from high archways.
I now approach the manor, in through
the kissing gate kissed with moss and dew.
A ****** of crows battle across the  battlements in still air.

I can see sand on the watery riverbed.
Dappled grey clouds reflected ripples.
A curious swan glides over to meet me.
Winter is relinquishing it’s hold
and grey-green grass is sprouting.
Shaggy sodden crows bob their heads and
the geese are calling.

Little droplets of green
speckle the woods.
High tinkling chirps is all I can hear.
Mossy bracken cobwebs the ground
and the puddles ripple as I trudge.

Hot, quiet and still days of June.
The air hangs and lingers,
Heat swirling creating bright
Beads of dew, popping up from your
Skin like little flowers or the
Tall grasses that curl towards the sun.

Sea foam and turquoise bubble bath
Waves crash. Or sigh on a clear day
Sigh with despondency at their monotonous lot. Maybe storms are their way of letting off steam, of screaming. High ocean froths at the mouth in anger.

Swathes of swollen, rolling hills
With chops of fluffy, dry grass scattered over. It’s nice knowing they’re also not perfect, no one has cleared away they’re loose ends.
Silver, bumpy cloud fluff is grasped and pulled along through the air.
Blowing wind is picking up planting a chill on my arms raising the little hairs like baby fuzz.

The blossom so sumptuous
Hanging in plump, sugared rose.
The new leaves dangling like lime green tear drops, glittering like jewels against the blazing evening sun, making you wink as it warms your face.